


Made to Measure

by Steals_Thyme (Liodain)



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Costume Kink, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Pre-Roche, Tailorschach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-12
Updated: 2009-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-03 02:39:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liodain/pseuds/Steals_Thyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan needs a new suit; the inevitable happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It's strange walking through the Garment District in broad daylight, clad in civilian clothes. The mob presence is obvious in the blacked-out car windows, the Consolidated Carriers trucks, the shady-looking goons hanging out in the doorways, and Dan feels more vulnerable in his heavy winter coat than he does under a thin layer of spandex and night's cover. It makes him nervous, but– he needs a new suit, and this is the best place to get one of quality.

He picks a clothier's house almost hidden in a side street off 37th, away from the suffocating bustle of Penn Station. The paintwork is shabby but the windows are clean, and Dan tentatively assesses it to be the kind of establishment that won't be insufferably prim. For all his money, he doesn't care for the cold sophistication of up-market trade.

There's the clatter of sewing machines out back, mannequins displaying various outfits, and a hirsute fellow at the counter with a tape measure draped over his shoulders. Dan explains that he's looking to buy a made-to-measure three-piece, and the tailor grins broadly.

"That I can do for ya. Yep, can't see that you'd find anything offa rack that'd fit you good, linebacker or something, eh?" He pats Dan on the shoulder companionably. "My usual girl is on vacation, but I got a guy that is just as good, prob'ly better in fact. Don't mind, I hope?" He winks.

"Er, no, not at all," Dan says, bemused.

The man sticks his head out back, the machine noises becoming louder as he opens the door, and bellows, "Walter! Customer out front, need you to measure up! I'm going for lunch!"

He grins toothily at Dan as he pulls on a coat, making his way to the door. "He'll be with ya in a moment."

The door rattles shut, and Dan turns to see a short, surly-looking redhead staring at him.

His eyes widen, and Dan has seen that bracing of the shoulders, the slight bend of the knees a hundred times; it means danger, run, _now_. The stubbled jaw, the freckled hands, the small scar that puckers his lower lip.

There is absolutely no mistaking it.

_Holy shit_, Dan thinks, and tries not to look too thunderstruck.

"Um," he says, trying to decide if feigning obliviousness will be as insulting as it seems.

"This way, please," Walter says. "Sir."

Okay then. Willful ignorance seems to be the order of the day.

Walter ducks into a room off to the side, curtains hung instead of a door, and Dan follows him, slightly dazed. It's fairly cramped and lined with mirrors; a changing room, Dan realizes, watching Walter's reflection as it recurs infinitely.

_He has amazing arms_, Dan thinks, and almost laughs at himself. They are, though – lean, defined, powerful. They can pin a man twice his size. The muscles flex as Walter bounces onto his toes to measure across Dan's shoulders, accidentally catching his eye in the mirror. Blue. Dan smiles at him. He frowns back, the rest of his face just as raw and unapologetic as his mouth.

"Brown will suit you," His voice is different, pitched slightly higher, still gravelly but missing that bucket-of-rusty-nails edge. "With pinstripes. Unless you have a color in mind."

Dan gives up on trying to arrange 'Rorschach is giving me fashion tips' into something sane, so he just keeps on smiling like a birdbrain, "No, I— brown sounds good."

Walter jots down numbers in a notebook, extracted from the breast pocket of his (rather hideous) green shirt. Chest, shoulder, sleeve, waist, outseam leg. He pauses with the tape measure, one bony fist hovering around Dan's thigh. "Can extrapolate inside leg measurements. Suit will be ready in a week."

"Okay, great. Thanks." Dan is all but hustled towards the door, Walter following a pace behind to ensure his departure. _To hell with this charade_, he thinks. "See you tonight, buddy."

"Ehhn."

It's going to be an interesting patrol.


	2. Chapter 2

There's a skirmish on 14th street, by the East River. A self-styled mad scientist is trying to tap into ConEd's steam network to power some kind of a contraption – an impractical, lumbering behemoth of a thing, twice his height and all cogs and pistons and circular-saw blades. Rorschach didn't meet him in the Owl's Nest this evening, so it's down to Dan to neutralize things. Fortunately, it doesn't prove to be much of a challenge, he's almost embarrassed for the guy when he ducks beneath the creaking undercarriage and easily locates several linchpins, tugs them, and rolls to safety.

It shudders erratically and slumps into a heap, steam billowing up and condensing on buckled metal. Dan imagines what his engineering tutor would have said, and pulls a face. He catches a flicker of white from the corner of his eye; the tails of a lab coat as the would-be villain bolts, collides with a steam vent in his haste and entangles himself in plastic barriers. To Dan's relief, Rorschach finally makes an appearance, slinking out of the shadows to menace him further while Dan radios in.

 

"So," says Dan, once they are sitting aboard Archie, city sketched out beneath them in blurred dashes of orange and black and neon.

Rorschach visibly bristles, folding his arms across his chest. "What, Daniel." It's a warning, not a question.

"Nothing." Dan answers anyway, keeping his face carefully straight and ignoring his partner's unsubtle body language. He's hopped up on adrenaline and feeling dangerous, and he can't help shaping the name with delight. "Walter."

"Not funny," Rorschach growls, stalking around the cockpit. "Unacceptable. Should be Rorschach to you, not _Walter_." He speaks the name with a level of contempt that surprises Dan. "Unforgivable compromise of identity. Also, resent invasion of personal life simply to be mocked."

Dan is aghast. "Hey man, I wasn't— look, this doesn't change anything, any more than you knowing my name does. I'm not mocking you. I, uh. Actually—"

Rorschach glares at him reproachfully, inkblots swirling into a demonic scowl.

"—you have great arms?" Dan offers lamely, quite aware that flattery will get him nowhere (and quite possibly an injury) but willing to give it a try nonetheless.

Rorschach snaps ramrod straight, chin raised in perfect indignation. "Unacceptable and _inappropriate_," he retorts, so scandalized that Dan can't help but laugh. He imagines those high cheekbones are glowing pink, and feels a flush of his own.

"Sorry." He coughs. "Sorry. It's just. You know pretty much everything about my life – hell, I bet you even know what color underwear I have on – and I didn't even know your name. Kinda nice to know there's a real person under there. "

Rorschach slumps into the co-pilot chair. "Not an automaton, Daniel," he mumbles. "Inevitably, intractably human."

Dan nudges him with an elbow, suddenly sober. "You could fool me, sometimes."

Rorschach grunts, and adjusts his fedora as Archie judders to a halt in the Owl's Nest. They disembark and stand awkwardly in Dan's workshop for a few minutes, Rorschach uncharacteristically self-conscious in the way he keeps tightening the belt on his trench, clearly desperate to leave. Dan is disappointed, but not surprised – it's not like he thought Rorschach would suddenly want to join him at Hollis' for Saturday night beer sessions because Dan happens to know his real name and face.

"Stop by shop on Thursday," Rorschach says grudgingly. "For fitting."

Dan grins at that small concession, and grabs a bottle of water. Something occurs to him. "Hey, I forgot to mention since it didn't come up." He chews his lower lip, recalling Walter's aversion to measuring his inseam. "I, uh, dress to the right."

"I know," Rorschach replies, "took into account."

Dan chokes on his water. "You do?"

"Wear skin-tight spandex, Daniel. Difficult not to know."

Dan gapes after Rorschach's retreating form, and unconsciously reaches down to adjust himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Walter is dressing the shop window when Dan stops by, face scrunched into an expression of absolute disgust as he pins floral dresses and frilled blouses to the mannequins. He's so intent on keeping his loathsome task at a literal arm's length, he doesn't notice Dan even when he pushes the door open, jangling the bell.

There's a girl behind the counter today, leafing idly through a glossy magazine with Veidt's face on the cover. She looks up at Dan as he enters, eyes him from head to foot, and smiles broadly. "Welcome to Manhattan Fabrics, can I help you?"

"Hi, uh, I'm here for a fitting?" Dan tries to ignore the exaggerated the way the girl licks her fingers to turn the pages of the appointment book. He takes off his glasses to polish them. "The name's Dreiberg."

"Sure thing," she prowls across the shop floor. "Come this way please."

Her smile falters when Dan doesn't move. It drops right off her face when he asks meekly, "um. Sorry. Could I... have Walter, please?"

"Walter," she says, and looks at Dan as if he has just broken wind loudly and without apology. "You want to deal with _Walter_." Her manicured eyebrows raise in perfect arches of disbelief.

"Yes, please," Dan says politely, fidgeting with his lapel. His keen detective skills indicate he may have offended her, and he tries a winning smile to smooth things over. She glowers at him.

She bellows "Kovacs!", rolls her eyes to the heavens, then stalks back to the counter to aggressively flick through her fashion magazine.

_Kovacs_, Dan thinks gleefully, his faux pas already forgotten. He mouths the name silently, twisting the syllables around his tongue. _Walter. Walter Kovacs._

Walter appears with several garments draped over his arm, and his eyes narrow as they flick between Dan and the sulking assistant. Dan watches him as he deduces the situation — and actually _smiles_. Well, almost. One corner of his mouth quirks up, there are creases at the corner of his eye, then his expression settles back into its usual dour grimace as if it were nothing more than an involuntary twitch.

"Mister Dreiberg," he says, not making eye contact. He's staring at the assistant as he gestures toward the fitting room. "Be right with you."

He drops his armful of ladies clothing on the counter, and Dan catches a low-pitched exchange as he pulls the fitting room curtain aside.

"Creepy little queer," hisses the girl. "Who let you out of the back, huh?"

"Appreciate that you didn't poach my commission," Walter responds with stiff courtesy.

The assistant knows a _lot_ of unladylike language.

Dan hears the thunk and flutter of a magazine-shaped projectile hitting the wall, and Walter ducks into the room with him. "Vulgar," he mutters under his breath, ears glowing pink.

"Not exactly service with a smile," Dan says with a wince. "Hey, I'm not making trouble for you, am I?"

"Hn. No more than usual. Here." Walter shoves a folded stack of brown pinstripe to Dan's chest, then quite obviously realizes that he's either going to have to stand in close proximity to Dan while he changes, or stand outside with Miss Congeniality '68. It occurs to Dan that Rorschach has probably looked less terrified while hopelessly outnumbered by crowbar-wielding punks.

"I'm not _that_ repulsive, come on," Dan says with mock indignation, trying to ease Walter's discomfort. That only seems to make it worse though, and Dan watches in fascination as his cheeks and forehead turn bright red, clashing dramatically with his hair and (rather hideous) orange shirt.

_Man, he really is ugly,_ Dan thinks. _But goddamn. Those arms..._

"Stop staring and get changed, Daniel," Walter snaps, turning his back and staring up at the ceiling, arms folded. Dan watches his reflection in the mirror, doesn't miss the flex of his fingers over his biceps, nor the lower lip raked through his teeth. _Interesting._

He changes quickly, tucking his button-down into the waistband of the pants and carefully buttoning the mocha-colored vest. "What do you think?" he asks, shrugging on the jacket.

"Your suit," comes the reply, "what do _you_ think?"

"I think the fabric was a great choice," Dan says, admiring himself in the mirror.

"Ehn." Walter finally turns around, and tilts his head as he gives Dan the once over. "Slightly too tight on shoulders," he says, frowning. He plucks at the lapel, running the material through his fingers firmly, enough to make Dan rock forward a step. "Line is good, though."

Dan forms a risky and quite possibly suicidal idea as Walter's fingers follow the pinstripes, trailing down Dan's chest and over his hip.

"Too loose here," Walter continues, hooking his thumb into the waistband. This time, Dan steps forward of his own accord and kisses Walter on the lips. The man recoils immediately.

"Daniel!" he growls. The grit has returned to his voice, and it's so incongruous alongside the freckles and the hair and the blue, blue eyes that Dan can only stare.

Walter stares back, murder written plain on his face.

_Boy,_ thinks Dan, _did I ever misjudge the situa–_

There's an open hand on his chest, pushing, and he flails backwards to sit heavily on the single wooden stool. Walter straddles him, hands tugging at Dan's lapels to pull him close and bring their mouths together a little too hard. Dan's glasses clatter to the floor.

"Making trouble for me now, Daniel," he says, between hard nips to his neck and jaw.

"_Ouch_," replies Dan, and giggles into Walter's neck. "Sorry," he gasps. "Do that again."

Walter tries his teeth on the curve of Dan's ear, making him throw his head back against the mirror with a groan. It rattles loudly in its frame. Walter freezes like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a particularly large truck, panting and wide-eyed.

"Relax," Dan murmurs, nuzzling at his shoulder, watching his face in a reflection of a reflection of a reflection–

"Joking? Boss's daughter in next room."

"Oh shit," Dan almost chokes. "She's...?" He tries to stifle his laughter, reduces it to graceless snorting. He rakes his hands down Walter's sides.

"Not funny!" Walter hisses, batting his hands away. "If caught–"

A third, female voice interrupts Walter's admonishment, almost sending him into paroxysms. "What was that noise, everything okay in there?"

Walter's thighs tense, the muscles like rock, and his fingers curl into Dan's shoulder painfully, holding them both stock-still.

"Fine!" Dan blurts out, a little too high-pitched and a little too breathless. "Fine! I'm just. Ah. A little ticklish. And, ah...the mirror, uhm. Just knocked it! Don't come in, I— uh, I'm half undressed!"

"Yeah, that's what I figured." Dripping sarcasm. "Hurry up, I want to lock up early today." Retreating footfalls.

Walter exhales loudly, relaxing by increments. His color is still high, and Dan reaches up to touch, fingertips to his forehead, just to see if he's burning as hot as he looks, as hot as Dan feels.

"Time to go, Daniel," Walter growls, ducking away from Dan's fingers and sliding from his lap, self-consciously smoothing down his shirt, over and over.

"Alright." Dan retrieves his glasses and stands to adjust Walter's collar for him. "Okay. Do you, uh, need me to come in for another fitting?"

"No!" Walter looks mortified at the thought of more semi-public indecency. "...can try on at Owl's Nest, when adjustments are done."

"Okay buddy," Dan grins, raking a hand through his hopelessly mussed hair. "See you tonight."

It's going to be a _very_ interesting patrol.


	4. Chapter 4

It's almost midnight, and Dan's doorbell rings. It startles him enough that he almost spills a mug of coffee over his sweatpants – only the first of the evening, since he's been jittery and unable to focus on anything since that deranged fitting-room tryst. The day's paper is in his lap, still mostly unread, every time he sits down to it he finds himself hopelessly lost in one daydream or another.

The bell rings again, longer this time, followed by a short, sharp jab.

He doesn't really like to open the door this late at night, but since (to his chagrin) Rorschach hasn't put in an appearance so far, he has an inkling of who it might be. He dumps his coffee and paper on the table as butterflies writhe in his chest, nervous and anticipatory.

Walter is on his doorstep, and if Dan'd had trouble truly correlating the mercurial redhead with 'his' Rorschach before, it all slots perfectly into place for him now. The trench is there over familiar pinstripes, but there's a real, human face beneath the fedora tonight. Walter's cheeks are ruddy from the cold, nose pink at the tip, chin buried in his scarf – he looks chilled to the bone. His breath condenses in the air as he nods solemnly in greeting, shifting a brown paper parcel from beneath his arm.

"Rorschach?" Dan says, stepping aside to let him in, curbing the urge to fold the guy into his arms, warm him up a bit... _Play it cool, Dreiberg. You don't want the neighbors talking._ "It's uh, kinda late. And what the hell man, you're—"

"Walter," he interrupts, hovering at the threshold like a vampire. "Apologies. Took longer than expected," he taps the package emphatically and turns to leave. "Will return when it's more convenient for you."

Dan grabs him by the arm and yanks him into the hallway, despite stony-faced indignation. "Get in here, are you crazy? You should have come in through the Nest." His manners kick in reflexively. "Coffee?"

Walter doffs his hat and allows himself to be guided into the living room with alarming ease. "No, thank you. Here on business, it seemed more appropriate this way."

"You're half in uniform!" Dan says, gesturing incredulously. God, he can imagine the headlines already, the man must be insane. Dan's starting to feel a little cracked himself, because _look at him_. He's half in uniform and Jesus, he doesn't even know why that's...

Walter shrugs, places the parcel on the couch. "You overestimate people, Daniel. Often don't see what is right in front of them." The fedora twists between his fingers, then is placed on the coffee table, followed by his gloves. Pale hands linger at his neck, adjusting the scarf, tightening and loosening it by turns.

"I am aware of the phenomenon," Dan says dryly. "Do you even know what you're doing here?" He catches Walter's hands with his own, stilling them against the man's chest. They're hot, damp-palmed. Dan can feel his heartbeat vibrating through the layers of his costume.

"Yes," Walter replies cagily, tugging his hands free. "It's like I said. Suit fitting."

Dan has to admire his adamance. "You're a terrible liar," he says, and reaches to unknot the scarf himself. The silk is warm where Walter has pressed his mouth into it to fend off the cold. It slides smoothly from around his neck. "Awful."

The color rises in Walter's face, and all the muscles in his jaw tighten as he takes umbrage. He's clean-shaven for a change, and it takes years off him. He looks like a sulking teenager.

"Let me get you a coffee," Dan says kindly. "Give me your coat, and sit yourself down."

–

He's not so bad, once you get used to all the severe angles of his face. Sure, his nose looks like it went a few rounds with a cinder block and his ears stick out and it's clear he cuts his own hair (not that Dan has any room to talk), but the freckles are kinda cute.

Dan makes a mental note to never, ever mention that out loud. While being pinned by a snarling Rorschach is an attractive prospect on a number of levels, it'd be pretty traumatizing as far as first dates go.

Dan wonders if he has freckles on his—

"Staring, Daniel." Walter shifts uncomfortably, perched on the edge of the couch, coffee mug cradled between his hands.

"Hm?" Hell. Yeah, he _is_ staring, and worrying at his lower lip like an infatuated teenager. "Oh! Sorry, sorry, I was miles away. Not so sharp this time of night, unless we're beating someone's ass." That much is true. His eyelids feel heavy and he's fuzzy and unfocused, he takes off his glasses to rub at his eyes.

"We should patrol, then," Walter says. He puts down his coffee and hesitantly pulls his mask out of his suit pocket, almost as though he's embarrassed to have brought it with him. He stretches it over his head, and it's like mainlining adrenaline. Dan's mouth goes dryer than the Sahara.

"Wait," he breathes. _Oh dear god, this is just too much._ "Wait."

Walter pauses, the mask pulled over hair and eyes.

Rorschach tilts his head in a familiar, inquisitive gesture.

Dan carefully places his glasses on the arm of the chair, and abandons his sense of self-preservation with as much grace as he can muster.

His knees sink into the couch cushions and throw him off-balance, but not so much that he misses entirely; he ends up half-straddling Rorschach with his nose in the crook of his neck, so he just goes with that. He smells musty and musky and is that... is that his cologne?

It's definitely _Nostalgia_, but the scent is slightly different on his skin. Woodier. Dan inhales deeply, and presses his mouth to Rorschach's throat.

"Nnh—" Rorschach is clutching at the hem of Dan's t-shirt, gathering the fabric in fisted hands. "Daniel..."

"Mm..."

"_Daniel._"

Dan leans back to look at him, alarmed by the note of pain in his voice. "Are you okay?"

"_Squashing_ me." He sounds strained. "Don't mean to ruin the mood, but is quite uncomfortable."

"Oh god! Jesus. Sorry!" Dan shifts his knee from Rorschach's crotch. "Ah, I'm pretty bad at this, huh," he says sheepishly, running a hand through his hair.

"Wouldn't know," Rorschach replies, his guard down momentarily. He immediately recognizes his slip, and ever the tactical genius, manhandles Dan by his shirt to pull him properly onto his lap. It's pretty self-defeating as far as distracting maneuvers go.

Dan sits there, astride his rumpled, half-masked partner of three years who is brutal and graceful and driven and so, so strange and who might, _might_ have just told him he's a...

_I am going to die tonight,_ he thinks. _Death by lust. It's not how I thought I'd go, but hell, considering the alternatives, I'm not complaining. In fact—_

Rorschach squirms beneath him, driving any further coherent thought from his head. He's making a low growling noise that Dan chooses to interpret as 'ravish me please, Daniel', so he does his best, drawing Rorschach's lower lip into his mouth to suck gently, and letting his hands roam over his shoulders and arms, gripping the solid muscle through the suit.

"Hn," Rorschach says consideringly, and pitches forward to tumble them both to the carpet; Dan's head hits the floor hard as they sprawl in an inelegant heap.

He laughs into Rorschach's shoulder, clutching at him as stars clear from his vision. He's pushed away, and his shirt is tugged up suddenly, over his head and tangling his arms. Turns out that being pinned by his partner is every bit as thrilling as he thought it would be, and almost as violent.

"_Ow,_" he gasps as teeth scrape over his chest, bite down firmly on a nipple. "Christ, Rorschach."

Rorschach looks up, blots drifting lazily in cloud formations. "Taken much worse," he says, and ducks his head to trail his tongue across a pale seam on Dan's abdomen.

"Not voluntarily!" Dan yelps, bucking as rough fingernails rake along another scar; one that's in a ticklish spot.

"Stop?"

"God, no." He knows his laughter is probably the wrong side of deranged, but he's past caring.

There's a huff of warm breath over his skin and Dan cranes his neck, trying to see if Rorschach has actually cracked a smile. He hasn't, and despite Dan's urging he's sat back on his heels and is watching him intently, fingers pressed to his chin.

"What?" Dan asks, catching his breath and blowing a stray lick of hair out of his eyes. His face feels hot; he's probably more flushed than Rorschach right now.

"This is ridiculous," Rorschach says.

"No," Dan shrugs his shirt the rest of the way off and sits up, bare-chested. "No, this is not. Ridiculous is...is making a pass at you in a fitting room. Ridiculous is when you wipe dirty cutlery on your trench and put it back in the drawer – yeah I've _seen_ you, don't try and deny it." Dan licks his lips. "Ridiculous is the way you can take down four men twice your size without breaking stride. Ridiculous is how much I—" He tugs at the buttons on Rorschach's suit jacket. "Ridiculous is how completely dressed you are. Still. Goddammit."

"Patience, Daniel." Still no smile, but there's amusement there. "It's a virtue."

"I don't want a lecture on virtue right now, Rorschach."

"Maybe would prefer rebuttal of homosexu—"

"—don't even _think_ about finishing that sentence." He sends a button pinging off the jacket, the offending garment flung onto the couch followed by the matching vest. Dan winds his hands into suspenders – _suspenders_, what a class act – and tugs Rorschach down for a kiss; he gets a glancing elbow to the ribs for his trouble. He has a sneaking suspicion it's not entirely accidental, some petty vengeance for his clumsiness earlier.

He forgives him though, could do nothing else when he's being devoured voraciously. Though, even with his mouth working roughly over Dan's jaw and neck, Rorschach still manages to make a scandalized noise as Dan runs his hands down his back and squeezes his rear through the pinstripes. When Dan raises his hips to press heat against insistent heat, Rorschach jerks against him and moans, low and guttural.

"Good?" Dan murmurs.

"Nnh..." Sounds positive, considering how hard he's breathing, and Dan knows it's probably the closest he'll get to 'oh god yes'. He's pinned Dan's hips and is rocking against him so hard that the carpet burns Dan's back. "Reconsidering opinion on patience," he rasps, and there it is, an awkward little smirk.

Grinning brightly, Dan hooks his legs around Rorschach's waist, arches against him, and lets friction do the work.

–

Dan wears the suit to breakfast, and Walter almost chokes on his cereal.


End file.
